“I must confess. This was not my intention, their use of that.. That ancient thing was not my suggestion. They lied and tricked me. Unleashing such a horrific thing to this world.. If the Gods would damn any of us, it should be me. Because of me.. The Gate has been broken, with the beast bursting forth like an unsung ballad. But some mechanism activated.. The gate crumbled and trapped the beast underneath its magical rubles.. But not killing. This indescribable horror… What have I done.. It yet lives, and I can hear its beating heart..”

- Scholar Torimak; Horror beneath the wells

Sahdun Venjar, Murderers of the Pale, Frostlings. That was the names of a race of Elves that lived in the Lonesome Frost. They were the first foreign race to have settled there, long before the humans that would become the Northmen even attempted pilgrimage to that cold place. Like the Northmen, they had come to that frozen and harsh place willingly. Settling to the harsher and deadlier western fringes of the land, far from their former kin, and pursuing desires that shattered the once unified Valgradon, or High Elves in the common tongue of man.

Though it was not their fault alone, as the Weeping as the remaining Elves that clung to the past called it, was caused by conflict from within their kind. It was caused by two factors, the death of the First Son, the rightful ruler of the Valgradon, first to be birthed from the Eternal Tree, and the cultural clash between the ‘clans’ that existed then. This was the cause of the near collapse of the High Elves, almost bringing them close to the predations of other races that saw them as the perfect slaves.

With the death of the First Son, it was by the ancient creed of theirs that a successor must be chosen. To be made as the first king of their kind, and yet this was not to be. As nearly all clans and nobility sent out their own ‘successors’, to try and claim the throne that could not previously be claimed. This was contested for, as the first son had many children, and they too wanted the throne. As they viewed their beliefs, their paths to be the most righteous one.

The clans that once were a foundation of their very race fragmented slowly. Beliefs, Gods and perception of honor forced them to begin hating one another. It is not clear to outsiders, but the accepted reason as to why the Weeping truly happened, was because of their Living Gods. Gods who are of flesh, who have physical bodies they may occupy and properly walk the material world without exerting their power to form a vessel.

As it is in this world, Gods are nearly linear beings. Their titles, their primary calling defining their actions. And these clans that followed specific Gods, found themselves changing culturally and physically. This was of no concern when it first happened, but at the beginning of the Weeping it was clan Venjar that first showed a radical change.

That change was their restless bloodlust, more so than any martial clan of that time. They were drawn to darker and fatalistic needs as their clan creed was morphing to reflect that, as they worshipped Sahdren Mikal. The seventh son, the Living God of Frost and Battles. And yet they did not covet the throne, as it was considered by them to be treason and betrayal. For why fight among their kindred, when they could fight the enemies that loom outside their great forests?

However, this was a mistake in their part. For the Valgradon had two ‘paths’ that dictated the actions of their kin, set about not by the first son or his many wives, but rather by the Eternal Tree that created them. It was called the Ballad of Dawn and Dusk, a sort of factions within their kind. Those of the Dawn were the most restrained, noblest among them all and the ones that cherished life, almost always the ones that sang the ballads of their kin and celebrating them. Those of the Dusk were not too dissimilar, but they were more cold and focused on the practical, willing to sacrifice thousands to save many more the number they sacrificed.

And if one could not find themselves at either, they would find themselves to belong to the Noon. In the middle of the two Ballads, fulfilling many purposes just as the two did. But theirs was a unique purpose, one that involved creating diplomats capable of seeing both sides. To help link their kind more than they already were.

With the Venjar being radically changing as the days go by, they had fallen from the reach of the Ballads. Having no place in either the Dawn, Dusk or the Noon. They were no longer considered as kin, no longer brothers or sisters. Even their God was cast aside by his brethren, as this war from within shattered each other’s bonds.

Before brother would turn to slaughter their own, the Venjar and their God, Sahdren fled. They fled to a place their people did not like, where their people would struggle to live. The Lonesome Frost, where a scant few lived there, and whatever did survive would prove to be strong enough to stop their kin from attacking them. And strong enough to change them, to temper them into something greater as Sahdren dictated to them once they fled.

But little did they know, this very act of self preservation would sever them forever from their birthright. As in the western part of the Lonesome Frost, they did not have the comfort of their forests, no faes to aid them in their plight, and most of all, no familiar ground was found in that cold desolate wasteland. What was worse, is that they were forever severed from the Eternal Tree. Which caused a cataclysmic reaction to the Venjar, who upon losing their link to what made them Elven was driven to near madness as their magics faded.

No longer were they Valgradon, as they had fallen and been severed from that birthright. They were the Sahdun Venjar, a new breed of elves. Frost Elves that would change in the course of millennia every since they had been severed from their true kin. With that event, it had formed a bedrock of their new culture. A foundation of their new way of life that defined them as the survivors of the cold home of theirs.

-

Blinking, Carleon let loose a low sigh. Intent at letting only the closest to him know, which was Jio. The voices spoke again, their hauntingly beautiful tone reaching his mind. This time, they spoke in a manner of sadness. Of pity and sorrow for the topic they told him. He tried to banish them again, back to the book that he held, that eldritch thing that he knew to be something his once living friend wanted.

‘They are not there. Do not worry.. They do not exist.’

His denial was more akin to him comforting himself, a hope that the voices would quiet. But they did not, their lament-like tone changed to an anger laden tune of discordant spite, which seemed to grow louder and louder until he chose to listen. They disrupted his thoughts, his solemn silence as they buzzed in the background like the wings of flies.

It came from the large ancient book, one he found during his short time among the mercenaries he chose to travel with. It was not acquired through some grand task, not from some necromancer. But by sheer accident. He simply found it clutched by the rotting hands of what seemed to be a scholar, killed by something or by the chilling cold they found him in. As per agreement, Carleon could loot what he wanted, and he chose the book.

Which upon initial inspection was a little too plain, with its cover being written in unknown otherworldly runes that the natives didn’t pay much attention to, but somehow caught his eyes. Instantly filling him with the thoughts ‘Benedict would like this..’. Upon opening the book itself, he saw strange scriptures and drawings, which could only be summed up as ‘eldritch’, almost wholly similar to what Benedict had once described to him whenever he read his novels before this world.

It had no effect on him initially. It was just a curious book, one that the would-be crusader took to gift to his closest and oldest friend. But as he took time to try and amuse himself with it, lightly skimming through its pages, looking at the impossibly patterned runes and non euclidean drawings. He found amusement in them, till the book began to whisper into his mind. At first he disregarded them as hallucinations of his stressed mind, as this new world, this new life was hard to cope up with. More so with the fact he was constantly fighting for his life, against beings normally thought weak in games.

Then as the days went by, the whisperings grew louder and louder. Changing in tune and temper, as if there were a thousand beings following him. They always told him of different topics, some inappropriate for the current situation, and at times remarkably useful. He either had to listen, or suffer their wrathful repetition of whatever the voices said in a much more twisted voice

The book in question was held by him, as he did not wish for anyone other than himself or Jio to touch upon it. It was born from a need to not let anyone suffer the voices, and a strange selfish desire to get it to Benedict no matter the cause.

“Anything wrong?”

Jio asked discreetly, as they stood in line with the other summoned that had just begun to pour into the excessively large royal hall of the castle. As if by some unspoken accord of sorts, the two of them, the godless among heroes blessed by gods, stood at the far right, with them not being quite near the other summoned. This was clearly noticeable as the large hall was more than enough to contain all the summoned, but with enough room to spare for another large number of soldiers or individuals.

“Nothing, nothing important Jio. Simply information about the Sahduns past, short and confusing..”

Hiding his discomfort for the voices that nagged in his mind, Carleon just dismissively shook his head. He remained stoic, his face a concrete mask of apathy for those around him, similar in how Benedict looked whenever he was idle. Jio, knowing full well that Carleon was withholding some of the truth, would just sigh as he stood at attention.

“I’m a bit.. Jealous you know.”

Jio grinned as he looked at Carleon, his posture slightly relaxing as he scanned the room to look at all who was currently present. Currently, it was only them, the summoned and Deren with ten royal guards that brandished greatswords. His voice was hushed, as his grin turned to a small smile.

“Of what?”

With a raised finger, Jio pointed at Carleon’s hips, to the left of which was Benedict’s doubled edged sword hanging from its hilt, with the broken chain on its pommel wrapping around Carleon’s left arm that held the eldritch book. With a momentary nod, Carleon looked down to the sword, his eyes instantly drawn to the words crudely etched upon its surface.

‘Wrath Incarnate. Twisted words etched on a tool of slaughter, of anger and repressed desires. A sword belonging to the Primogenitor, whose cross symbolizes not that of a noble order- but that of false righteousness. As the chains upon its pommel, broken by a blade of another, onced was fettered to the right arm of the Primogenitor. The arm of which belongs the hand that holds this extension of madness.

The hand that will bleed the world, and devour its children. The instrument of a bloody handed despot.’

In almost an instant, the voices returned. The book speaking again to him, this time in a prophetic tone of a man gone mad. It was a rasping tone, one stating lies as if it was fact. Or was it stating fact, but the madness of the voice turning it into lies? The book had been doing this, speaking of things owned by another with strange descriptions that obviously sounded farfetched, and quite insane.

“...ow, the fact they have a true party of friends? Carl, you listening?”

Carleon had a dazed look about him for a scant few seconds, as not only did the book spoke again to him, it also evoked the few memories he had of Benedict before they had parted ways. Which only made him grimace at the thought of his friend being gone.

"Sorry Jio, got a bit.. Distracted.. What were you saying again?”

With a gentle thud, Carleon would find himself half-heartedly punched by Jio on the shoulder as the boy repeated himself, with his eyes motioning to the summoned directly to their left. The forty two individuals had their own groups of friends, enemies and all that. It seemed they had truly began to fit into their situation, something Carleon and Jio struggles with despite what they have already experienced.

“The fact that the other summoned are making their own clicks, groups and all.. It’s making me a bit jealous. You know, it’s like those animes we used to watch with Benedict, whenever new one came out during summer or fall.”

There was a sort of strange smile on Jio’s lips that lasted only for a few moments, before it was replaced with a grin that one could call mocking.

“Of course, Benedict always found ways to criticise the groups formed in the animes. Especially fantasy ones, always making references to the most.. Optimal of party formations.”

It was a sort of sneer, as Jio looked at Damien and the group he was talking to. It was only for a few seconds, but it was clear that it was a contemptuous look towards the one considered to be the greatest among them. Carleon looked to their way for a moment, before simply looking at the air again as he replied to Jio.

“We are Godless Jio, remember that. What Benedict said was true, that our status as Godless would affect their perception of us. We can not be like them… Since, Benedict is de-.. Not here yet.”

Catching himself almost declaring his friend was dead, Carleon would correct himself immediately as he turned to look at Jio again, not noticing his mouth turned to a frown. Which Jio returned with a smile as the summoned to their left paid them no heed.

“We can’t be a triumvirate without him- Bah, now I’m using words he uses! Damn it Ben, rubbing out on us when you’re probably out there angry as hell!”

Trying to ease Carleon’s seemingly sullen mood, Jio made a joke after mentioning the word Triumvirate. Even though it was trio he wanted to say, but due to Benedict having lectured them about random facts about the ancient Roman Empire, some of the words he used stuck and seemingly popped out here and there in this new world they were in. Carleon could only smile for a moment, as they soon discussed what they plan to do after this in a hushed tone.

Though when they assumed the summoned paid them no heed, they were clearly wrong. As the group of Damien was observing them, though not all of them, as only one was looking at them and trying to be as discreet as possible. Her pale blue eyes stared at them, confused, almost afraid as she stared at their expressions, their lips and noticing how rigid it was.

They spoke like friends should, but they were speaking as if they were among people who will betray them. As if each word they say should not be heard by no one else other than them. Not only that, their dominant hands held their weapons tightly, their posture at the ready to strike. Jio whose one edged blade was sheathed, had its handle caressed by the boy himself, the chain upon it jingling almost ominously to her young ears.

She could not hear what was exactly said by their mouths, but what she saw caused her to shiver in fear. This girl, was Erica. Arguably the youngest summoned among her group. She was teamed up with Damien’s group, after she had showed exemplary skill in the manipulation of mana. This came as no surprise as her patron goddess was one responsible for magic, and known by a few to also be involved in the seeing of the aura of the soul.

She could see the aura of others, their mana and to some extent the representation of their souls. This allowed her to be a great asset to many, especially on how she was able to learn magic seemingly easily. She was showered in praises due to it, but she was humble about it as she viewed everyone of the summoned to be friends, friends who were dragged into this new world like her.

But there were three among them that she couldn’t say to be their friends, as these three in particular were more reclusive than their antisocial friends. What was different about them, was that they were Godless. She didn’t like the term, as it was misleading, too demeaning to her ears. As she saw, in a very rare time, that all three of them were praying.

Not to a god of this world, but a God of their world. A God she did not recognize. It was a God that held no name, but was the father of a figure named Jesus, who in their prayers was the lamb that would save their souls. Or rather, make sure their souls were given unto their lord for judgement, whether they received heaven or hell.

She did not recognize the names or concepts they prayed, but she understood it. She respected it, and to her personally, viewed them simply as honest albeit mean people that did not like their situation. Though that all changed when the three began to leave, or rather started to grow much more distant.

She saw their auras, or rather a lack of it as a disconcerting thing to see. As all individuals here, the natives and the summoned had one. The colors varied, alongside the intensity of it according to the quality of the individual. For example, Damien’s was that of a golden hue, akin to a golden flame that would burn for eternity as a guiding light for all.

However, what she saw now was not like the usual auras she had seen. Instead, it was something scary, incomprehensible that made her shiver in her shoes as he kept staring at the two godless before her. To the eyes of others, and even that of mages, they looked utterly normal. With little to no magical talent at all, but to her, who was a Champion of a god, she could see something more.

She saw around the forms of the two Godless, an aura like nothing she had seen. An aura of contradiction, of emotion and of sheer malevolence. Their coloration was that of a dark hue, but one that would quickly shift to different colors. From green, to blue, whirling and conflicting with one another to even forming malign forms that caused her mind to reel in shock.

They did not have auras like this in the past, they shouldn’t even have auras now. Yet they have them now, and they not only did not conform to the shape of the Godless, they shifted into forms akin to an undulating mass of twisted flesh. She shivered in terror at what she saw, nearly breaking into tears as Carleon seemed to notice her stare.

Without a word, something only that she could see caused her to visibly stiffen. Which caused the summoned around her to look at her with concern, then Carleon’s gaze would waver as he stiffened up. Staring to his side as if hearing a voice only he could hear.

“Erica, are you alright?”

Damien asks as he gently places a hand on her shoulder, causing her to further stiffen up before realizing who it was. With a nod, she opts to shake her head as she looked back to Carleon.

“Y-Yes.. I’m fine.. I just remembered a bad memory!”

Making an excuse for herself, she saw the terrifying auras of Carleon and Jio again. But her attention was caught by Damien who whispered into her ears, under the assumption that something about them was scaring her.

“Did they remind you of something?”

Reluctantly nodding the smaller girl, would keep staring at the backs of the two Godless. Who compared to the summoned, had experienced truer battles than they did as their armors had obvious scratches to them. Their auras matched that, violent, bloodthirsty, angry. Yet it was also sorrowful despite the terrifying nature of it.

“Angry warriors.. Men of the occult.. Trying to bring dead gods.. Back to life.”

Erica said almost hushed, covering her eyes as she averted her gaze from the two Godless. Prolonged viewing of their auras being too painful for her to bear, this caused concern for Damien and the others. Before any of them could act, the sound of heavy footsteps would rang outside the large hall they were in. Indicating a large group of individuals was walking briskly towards them. Not only that, the temperatures within the hall itself slowly began to chill, with the candles and braziers almost being snuffed out.

The first to react was Carleon, who was engaged in a hushed discussion with Jio. His posture straightened as he placed the book on a bag tied to his belt, chained alongside Benedict’s sword. His hands went to hold his warhammer, raising it as Jio to his side lowered his stance and almost drew his blade.

“What the- It’s cold all of a sudden..”

One of the summoned nearest to them said, with the others saying similar remarks regarding the cold that crept into the room. Damien looked to his peers, then to the two godless that showed hostility towards the chill, seeing that they knew something about this he tried to approach them, gently pushing away the other summoned that stood in his way.

But as he neared them, the entire room would begin to slowly freeze over, with the walls and pillars being overcome by a near crystal-like ice. In a near instant a voice rang out, as a figure that embodied frost entered the hall, with his pale face glowering over what he sawed.

“Children, that is the ‘champions’ of the gods? Children? They are not even armed.”

A Frost Elf, one as regal as King Asairos. Though he was no noble, and more akin to an aged warrior as his aged face had the scars of a thousand battles, with his armor being an intricately designed piece. With a disregard for practicality, as its general plate-like design was covered by artistic depictions. But the chilling aura coming from the individual himself, and his silver armor made it so that this was not a hindrance.

Deren and the ten royal guards would respectfully bow their heads, indicating that this person was someone important. But Damien shivered at the sight, his gaze returning to his peers who held a look of awe and fear. In contrast, the two godless further looked ready to strike, with Jio slowly drawing out his singled edged blade, with Carleon shifting his stance as he prepared to strike with his hammer.

“But I seem to be wrong, there are two ready to fight?”

The Sahdun asked with a grinned, his armored hand reaching out to the two godless and pointing one clawed finger towards them.

“May you be fools that know not of my kind? Or perhaps like those humans from the south that dislike anything that is not your kind?”

Then a hand of a girl would gently lower his, her skin was much more paler than that of the elf and looked to be incredibly white like snow. With ghostly steps she entered the room dressed in a light blue robe that looked out of place in this land, one that did not cover the belly nor the lower breast. It was more appropriate for some brothel dancer than for this woman. But her face matched it quite well, a beautiful look of an angel fallen from grace, with her eyes glowing a furious red.

“The Godless knows your kind.”

At the moment she spoke, the Sahdun would chuckle as he directed his gaze to the other summoned. Letting out a hearty laugh as the air he exhaled turned to chilling mist.

“They know, but do they know battle?”

Turning his gaze back to the two, he would frown as he begins to stare at them, examining them from head to toe.

“It seems they do. But this won’t do, two individuals without the blessings of the gods being better than the ones who are blessed? What irony is this! Our Lord expected warriors to war against the coming dark, not children that do not even stand as warriors.

Was it lie Herald? That among these would be the champion of our god? I see none that may match such description, only feeble weaklings!”

Uncomfortably, the summoned look among each other, as Damien would walk pass Carleon and stand there proudly. His developing wings flapping a bit as his tense stance indicated his nervousness. But the godless behind him would let out an uncharacteristic scoff as he motioned to his friend behind him, causing Jio to let go of his blade.

“And what’s this? The champion of Aurolos? Standing up to my insults? What will you do, blessed boy? Cover me in feathers?”

Sneering at them, Damien looked ready to respond before being cut off by the all too familiar voice of Asairos. Who was accompanied by the rest of the Sahdun and other important individuals, with Aniara following close behind carrying a helmet in the shape of a skull.

“That is enough Uron, they will succeed in the coming task at hand. Have a little more faith you old man, we’re here to discuss about what task they will take, not berate them for their failings.”

With a huff, Uron bowed his head as he stepped to the side with the woman next to him, as Asairos walked towards the throne, with Aniara and his daughter Leila standing at the side with them wearing their most regal of attires. Uron would then join the other Sahduns who stood at attention to the side directly in front of the summoned, with one Sahdun in particular looking like an important noble.

“I must ask for your forgiveness champions for this sudden summons, but there is a matter that must be spoken with utmost haste, one relating to the dark that lurks. As signs of their activity has been noted in the once peaceful Fae Lands.”